


knighting ceremony

by sfxlled



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Riding, accidentally tender, chapter 1 rated M chapter 2 rated E, how do u ask ur virgin bf who is also reigning monarch to have kinky cosplay sex?, kind of cosplay kink but not really, mentions of past ashelix (fwb), not actually kinky sorry ive failed u all, sex comedy???, the fabled and elusive Horny Ashe, this is 13k of bullshit and 5k of porn. both of those facts are ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 12:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfxlled/pseuds/sfxlled
Summary: “What’s wrong, Ashe?” Dimitri asks, with wide, earnest eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”There is no easy way to sayI want you to dress up as your dead ancestor and then suck your dick,so Ashe doesn't.Dimitri and Ashe are taking things slow. Which is fine in Ashe's book. Great, really.And then Dimitri wears Loog's armor for his coronation ceremony, and Ashe abruptly realises that actually, they should definitely Have Sex.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> why are felix and sylvain just chilling in fhirdiad instead of minding their own territories? how does this timeline even work? what the hell is up with the general setting of this entire thing? idk man im just here for some Thirsty Ashe content please dont ask these questions

"So like," says Sylvain bluntly, "you guys still haven't fucked yet?" 

At that, Ashe chokes on his drink, coughing and sputtering all over the bar. Sylvain smirks. Ingrid, with a loud, put upon sigh, smacks Ashe on the back a few times as she glares at Sylvain.

"Don't be so crass," she scolds. "That's His Majesty you're talking about, you know." 

"So?" 

"So," Ingrid repeats, rolling her eyes. "Stop talking about his sex life in public." 

"Or lack of one, you mean,” snorts Sylvain.

"Please stop," begs Ashe. He's blushing red hot, staring determinedly at the wooden grains of the bar table. Goddess, why did he ever agree to go out drinking with the three of them?

Beside him, Felix scoffs. 

"Dimitri's a prude, anyway," he jeers, knocking back his fifth shot of the night. "I bet he's like a blushing virgin whenever they so much as kiss."

"Ohohoho, and you know that, how?" Sylvain grins wide, leaning forward past Ashe, his upper torso stretching the length of the counter as he leers at Felix. “Have you been _ watching, _ my dear Felix?” 

“Why the fuck would I be watching _ them,” _ Felix says flatly. "If I wanted stuff to jack off to-"

"Okay, hold on, stop for a minute," Sylvain holds his hands up, as Ashe dies a slow death of embarrassment in the background. Ingrid is waving the bartender down. "I just wanna say that _ you _ were the one who brought jacking off into the conversation here, alright? Not me."

"Shut up," Felix tells him. "Anyway, I was saying. If I wanted stuff to jack off to-“ 

_ "Stop," _ pleads Ashe. Felix sends him a distinctly unimpressed glance, but stops talking.

Silence falls on them for a precious few moments. Ingrid takes a shot, looking pained. Ashe, nursing his drink, desperately hopes that the peace lasts for the rest of the night.

And then Sylvain opens his mouth.

"Okay," he says, "but seriously. No dick?” 

Ashe downs his glass.

Dimitri kisses Ashe the night before they march on Enbarr.

It’s sweet, and gentle, and slow, as the stars twinkle brightly above them in the clear night sky. It’s a cliche, perhaps, the quiet confession at the top of the Goddess Tower, but Dimitri and Ashe, a king and his knight, have never claimed to be otherwise. 

Dimitri flushes a bright red when they pull apart, and Ashe beams, earnest and enchanted at him. Ashe remembers thinking _ cute _when Dimitri avoids his gaze, his ears burning as Ashe stands up on his tiptoes to bring their lips together once more.

Not that Ashe has much room to talk. Not in the blushing department. 

This, Ashe supposes, is a telling indicator of how their relationship progresses in the next few months. It’s not that Ashe isn’t shy as well, or that he’s particularly forward, or anything, but being with Dimitri is starting to make him question otherwise.

Is _ he _ the weird one for so brazenly holding Dimitri’s hand under the table? When he has no qualms with tucking his head into the crook of Dimitri’s neck, while Dimitri begins the process of spontaneous human combustion through sheer embarrassment alone? For kissing him in an empty hallway, fingers laced together with Dimitri’s as he strains on his feet to reach Dimitri’s lips?

Is he, Ashe despairs, actually a _ slut? _

“Uh, no, dude,” says Sylvain, when Ashe mildly drunkenly spills all of his deep-seated worries post a few too many glasses of wine. “This is all incredibly tame, actually.” 

Ashe narrows his eyes at him. This is not a good idea, because now there are two Sylvains in front of him and Ashe isn’t quite sure where to look. So. Maybe he's a little drunker than he'd thought.

...He looks at the left one.

“Are you sure?” Ashe accuses, lips involuntarily curling into a pout. “I mean, you’re _ Sylvain. _ Maybe your standards are just dumb.” 

Sylvain looks Ashe straight in the eye. Or Ashe thinks he does, at least. The double vision is not helping matters.

“Dude,” says Sylvain, empathetically, _ “trust me.” _

Ashe does not trust him. However, he is reluctantly persuaded by the others that yes, Ashe is moving at a relatively “normal” pace (by societal standards, at least). Dimitri is just very. Uh. Easily embarrassed? 

"He's a fucking prude!" Felix howls with laughter, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clutching the edge of the table for support. Sitting in the chair beside him, Dedue levels Ashe with a very serious look.

"Ashe," he says sincerely, "I can assure you. You are not," here, he pauses for a split second, as if contemplating all the life decisions he's made that has led up to him saying the following phrase, "a slut," he finishes.

Ingrid nods, sitting on the other side of Ashe. 

"Yes," she says comfortingly, patting Ashe on the back. "Ashe, don't worry. The only slut we know here is Sylvain. ...Felix, stop laughing."

Felix does not stop laughing. If anything, he just wheezes harder.

"Slut," he gasps out incoherently between breaths, and then falls into an even worse laughing fit. 

Ironically, though, it is Felix's reaction to his words that ultimately manages to convince Ashe that no, he is not some fast-moving romantic beast. ...Or something along those lines, anyway. 

("I don't think that's an actual phrase," Ingrid pipes up helpfully when Ashe lets slip his thoughts.

Felix falls into hysterics. Again.)

Anyway. 

Ashe doesn't mind it, if he's being honest. Not in the slightest. It's weirdly cute, seeing His Royal Majesty, The Savior King, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd acting like a blushing schoolgirl whenever Ashe so much as holds his hand. It makes Ashe embarrassed as well, actually. 

So then they're just two idiots with red cheeks holding hands. Which is fine.

Needless to say, they take it slow. It's very sweet and gentle and nice, and Ashe thinks everything is going great. Dimitri is slowly getting used to human affection and contact again, and opening up more, and really, Ashe couldn't be happier. Give it a few more months, and they might even make it to tongue-in-mouth action. That'd be fantastic, in Ashe's personal opinion.

Dimitri's coronation ceremony changes everything. For Ashe, at least.

In light of the turmoil caused by the war, they put off the official ceremony and all the pompous celebrations that come with it. Dimitri takes the throne, and immediately gets down to work. Ashe gets knighted, turns down the proffered lordship over Gaspard territory in lieu of staying in Fhirdiad to serve under Dimitri, and also takes up the role of the king's consort. Unofficially, of course, while they still scramble to figure out the political ramifications of _ that. _

("No matter what others may say," Dimitri murmurs into Ashe's hair, once, his lips pressed to the top of Ashe's head in one of the rare displays of physical affection that the king actually initiates, "I wish for you to remain by my side forevermore."

Ashe hums, in unspoken acknowledgement, and tips his head up to press a kiss to Dimitri's chin. 

It's a moment that will stay dear to Ashe's heart, he thinks.) 

The point is, while it may improve moral significantly, they simply don’t have the time and resources to perform such a big blow-out celebration. Even now, really, it would probably be better to dedicate their efforts to something more substantial. 

But the people want a celebration. They need something to lift their spirits. So, months after Dimitri is crowned king, they start preparing for the ceremony, and they don’t look back. 

Ashe is pretty excited, actually. He’s never seen a coronation ceremony in person, obviously since he hadn’t been born yet when King Lambert ascended the throne, but ever since he’d gotten into the concept of knights and chivalry, it’s been a small, wishful dream of his to be able to attend one in his lifetime. 

And now he is. As a knight. As the _ boyfriend _ of the coronated king. It feels unreal, honestly.

Standing at attention beside him, Ingrid shoots him a vaguely amused look out of the corner of her eye. Ashe tries his best to suppress his flush. Right, pay attention, stand straight, and do his duty. No daydreaming about the king he’s sworn his life to. That’s just irresponsible.

...Besides, he’s going to see the real thing in person soon, anyway. 

It’s tradition for the newly coronated king to don the armor of lions that tales praise and embellish. Everyone who’s anyone has heard the descriptors: gleaming white with golden flourishes, a cast steel that bends to no blade. A royal blue cape lined with the fur of wolves, bearing the coat of arms with the pride of Faerghus’s people. Loog’s armor is a thing of legend, passed down and repaired and reworked and reclaimed.

Ashe, of course, has never seen it before in his life. It’s kept locked up tight, a treasure to be brought out only for the celebration of a new era, and Ashe’d wager even Dimitri to have seen it only once or twice, maybe. Of course, now he’s going to _ wear _ the thing, for the world to watch, and Ashe is excited beyond all belief.

Just how will Dimitri look, in the steel of the tales of old? In pure white majesty and the mane of a lion? Like a king, Ashe knows. Like the second coming of Loog himself, maybe.

Ashe, as he quickly finds out, is right, but in what may also be the worst way possible.

Dimitri steps out to resounding cheers and applause. The Savior King, beloved by his people. He looks like everything Ashe had ever hoped for, and more.

Much. Much. More. 

_ He’s tied his hair up, as well, _Ashe thinks dazedly. Much like Loog in all the books that Ashe has read. Just, in general, actually, Dimitri fits the common description of Loog to a tee. The golden hair matching with the armor’s accents, blue sweeping elegantly over shining white. The way he carries himself, full of life and standing taller than the clouds passing overhead. The way he casts his gaze around, glancing at the faces in the crowd, and smiles for his people.

There is a moment where he meets Ashe’s eyes. All at once, his face softens, fondness showing itself in his expression, as he gazes at Ashe. His smile turns sweet at the edges, his lips tugging up that little bit more. And then the moment is over, and Dimitri is looking away.

This does not stop the hot thrum that runs through Ashe’s body. This does not stop the burning blush from rising to Ashe’s cheeks, and taking his face over.

This does not stop Ashe’s vivid flashback to the time during the five year period of strife, when he wrote a seven hundred over page self-indulgent fan novel about Loog and a character (who very, very coincidentally happens to resemble Ashe) falling in love (and also having sex. Later. After they fall in love.) as a way to cope with the chaos happening around him.

Subtly, Ashe crosses his legs, and tries to think about the worst things known to man.

(Ingrid, politely, averts her gaze.)

Dimitri takes off the armor after the initial pomp and circumstance of the ceremony. He returns to his usual regal gard, and Ashe tells himself not to be disappointed. 

_ Do you want to walk around with a boner all day, _ he chastises himself. _ Do you?! _

...It’d be worth it, he secretly admits to himself. 

Unfortunately, such ceremonial and prized armor can’t simply be taken around everywhere. Dimitri locks the armor right back up, and spends the rest of the celebration looking less like something straight out of Ashe’s wet dreams. Not to say that he doesn’t still look like something Ashe’s mind will conjure up for his own private fantasies, but he’s not Dimitri in _ Loog’s armor, _ if Ashe is being totally honest with himself.

But hey. At least he keeps the hairstyle. 

“I actually rather like it,” Dimitri says, when he manages to catch a rare moment with Ashe in the midst of all the festivities. He combs a hand through the small ponytail at the back, looking thoughtful. “Should I keep it, you think?”

_ Yes, yes, yes, _ thinks Ashe desperately, gaze fixated on Dimitri’s pale nape. _ Please tie it up forever. I can see your neck and I want to bite it and leave my marks all over you. _

Ashe does not say any of this aloud. For obvious reasons. Like the fact that Ashe would actually die of humiliation, and Dimitri would die even more, and then they probably won’t even get buried next to each other like Ashe sometimes privately thinks about in his wildest dreams because they aren’t _ official _ official.

“It suits you,” he says instead, trying his best not to let on just _ how _ much Ashe thinks the hairstyle suits him. Dimitri smiles, a flustered tint of red overtaking his face as he looks down at the ground.

“In that case,” he says, self-consciously patting his own locks. “I will keep it like this.”

It’s sweet. It’s cute. It’s, really, too much for Ashe to handle.

They’re in public, with eyes upon eyes on them, so Ashe can’t simply tug Dimitri down, the king yielding easily under his hands, to press a chaste kiss to Dimitri’s lips like he wishes to. But he does allow himself one small selfish comfort, and surreptitiously takes one of Dimitri’s hand in his own.

Their fingers interlock, just for a scant few moments as Ashe gently squeezes Dimitri’s hand. And then they break apart, arms falling back to their own sides. Dimitri beams bashfully at Ashe, before he’s being hurried off to his next duty, striding away with his blue cape flowing behind him. 

Ashe watches him go, gaze fixed on Dimitri’s back, until he’s abruptly taken out of his moony daze by an elbow to his side. Ashe stifles a yelp, and whips around to be greeted by Sylvain’s smug, smirking face.

“Oooooh,” Sylvain drags out teasingly. “Loverboy, huh?”

Ashe flushes.

“Shut up, Sylvain,” he mutters. Sylvain grins, even wider, as he slings an arm around Ashe’s shoulders.

“Watch that mouth of yours,” Sylvain playfully cuffs Ashe on the head with his free hand. “What would His Majesty say if he heard you speaking like that?” 

“Join in, probably,” Ingrid answers dryly, walking over now that her shift is complete. She nods at Ashe. “Ashe. Good work out there.”

Ashe ducks his head. 

“Thanks,” he says. “It was pretty nerve wracking.”

“You guys literally just stood around for two hours,” Sylvain adds in his own unwanted two cents, “Lighten up, will ya?” 

“It’s not just standing around!” Ashe and Ingrid’s protests overlap one another, as they both turn on Sylvain at the same time. Sylvain quickly raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but the smarmy look on his face is not doing him any favors. “It’s hard work. Definitely. Especially for you, Ashe. Must have been hard restraining yourself from jumping His Majesty when he came out all regal-like, huh?”

Ashe’s cheeks burn.

“Sylvain!” he cries out weakly. The worst part is that Sylvain has actually hit the mark on the head. _ This is terrible, _ Ashe thinks miserably to himself.

But what else was he supposed to think about, when Dimitri came out looking like _ that? _ Was he _ not _ supposed to suddenly flashback to the sex scenes he’d written into his Loog and self-ins- _ original character, _ Loog and his _ original character _ fannovel? 

Desperately, Ashe wonders just how long you have to be dating before it’s socially appropriate to ask your boyfriend, _ hey, wanna reenact this porn that I wrote about your dead ancestor and my definitely-not-a-self-insert-original-character? _

A thousand years, maybe. A million. 

Ingrid lightly coughs.

“It’s okay, Ashe,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. This does not comfort him in the slightest.

“Stop,” Ashe pleads, red spreading to his ears now.

“We all have our fantasies,” Ingrid continues, talking faster and faster as she goes on. “And you know, if you want His Majesty to dress up as Loog, like, I mean, I’m not trying to imply anything _ but I’m just saying _that if you’re into that, then-“ 

“Ingrid,” says Ashe, burying his face in his hands, “please.”

“-I mean you could probably get a custom replica of it, not that I’m saying to actually _ bring the real thing out _ or anything but just a quick sketch and since they’ve probably caught a glimpse of it today then it shouldn’t be too impossible-“ 

Sylvain is nearly in tears from laughing. He’s doubled over, wheezing and gasping for air as Ingrid just keeps talking on and on, her words tripping over themselves and her face steadily getting redder with every second she continues speaking. 

Ashe… Ashe just wants to die.

“-steel is probably not the optimum, uh, material for this but-“

“Ingrid, _ stop,” _Ashe begs. Ingrid, finally, blessedly, stops.

There is an awkward silence, as Sylvain tries not to suffocate from lack of air in the background. Ingrid coughs lightly, again. 

“...Sorry,” she says, weakly. “I...uh. May have gotten a bit carried away there.”

“I,” says Ashe, hands still stuck to his face and muffling his words, “have realised.” 

Another awkward silence. Sylvain manages to regain his right to breathe.

“Wow, Ingrid,” he chokes out, like an idiot with no basic self-preservation instincts, “you sure have thought a lot about this, huh?” 

Ingrid punches him in the gut for that, her face ablaze, and Sylvain is wheezing again as all the air is knocked out of his body.

_ Good, _ thinks Ashe, spiteful in his humiliation. _ Don’t ever talk again. _

After the day ends, Ashe hopes beyond all hope that he will completely forget about everything, and they’ll never talk about it, ever, and everything will go back to normal.

This does not happen. In fact, it just gets _ worse. _

Before, whenever Ashe saw Dimitri, he was filled with the unholy and depraved thoughts of maybe holding his hand, or like, kissing him in front of others, maybe.

Despicable. 

And now, whenever Ashe sees Dimitri, he thinks stuff like, _ I want to suck your cock, _ or like, _ please fuck me while wearing Loog’s armor. _

...Ashe is not good at a regular escalation. 

For the first time in his life, Ashe thinks, he kinda gets where Sylvain is coming from. And he dearly, dearly wishes that he didn’t.

It gets to the point where Ashe can barely even look at Dimitri without blushing and turning away. Because when he sees those blue eyes, those sharp cheekbones and that cutting jawline, and his hair tied back into a small ponytail with stray strands of hair sweeping down over his face- 

_ Oh, Goddess, _ Ashe thinks miserably, _ I’ve actually become a slut now. _

“Uh,” says Sylvain, staring wide-eyed at Ashe. “So, like, I know I really shouldn't be the one saying this, and I’m a total hypocrite, yadda yadda, but like. Kinda TMI. And also, still not really the correct usage of the word. I mean, it’s way, way closer than last time, and I _ guess _ that an argument could be made for you being Dimitri’s slut, but like. You know.” 

Ashe sniffs, eyes glazed over, into his drink.

“Are you going to cry,” says Sylvain, looking panicked. “Please don’t cry. Oh fuck. How drunk are you, again?”

“Lost count,” slurs Ashe. 

“Fuck,” Sylvain repeats, with feeling.

Ashe, thankfully, has enough self-control not to cry. However, he doesn’t have enough self-control to restrain himself from staring mournfully into his half-empty glass. 

“Why is this happening to me,” he whispers. Sylvain, very awkwardly, pats him on the back.

“It’s probably the sexual repression,” Sylvain tells him wisely. “It’s like, an exploding volcano. And now you’ve erupted, and you’re horny.” 

“I’m not sexually repressed.” 

“Well, clearly not anymore,” says Sylvain. “I don’t think a sexually repressed person would talk so openly about wanting to suck His Majesty’s dick.” 

“Sylvain.”

“You said it yourself!” Sylvain defends. Ashe can’t even say anything in response to that, because Sylvain is right.

Goddess, Sylvain is _ right. _ What has his life come to. Ashe puts his face in his hands.

“I’m not,” he repeats, desperately, “sexually repressed.”

“Um, yeah,” Sylvain nods, stroking his back more. “We already covered that, buddy.”

“I’ve had sex,” Ashe continues to mumble to himself, his thoughts jumbled and his mind a blur. Sylvain’s hand stops moving on him, and he goggles at Ashe.

“Wait,” he says, “Wha-“

“Why is this so hard,” Ashe laments, completely ignoring Sylvain. “I want...to stop thinking.”

With that, he throws back his glass. In retrospect, this is not a very smart decision. He blinks, slow like molasses, as it all starts kicking in even worse. 

“Okay, wait, hold on,” Sylvain says feebly, “can you please elaborate on your earlier-“

“There you are!” an all too familiar and all too coincidental voice rings out. Sylvain freezes, and Ashe abruptly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured straight down his back. 

...But not enough to clear his mind proper, though. Everything is still swirling before his eyes. Why does he always agree to go out to bars with Sylvain? It literally never ends well.

While Ashe ponders all of his life choices that have led him to this miserable point in his life, Dimitri stops short at their table, shooting an exasperated look at Sylvain.

“Felix has been looking all over for you,” he chastises, and Sylvain obediently sinks in his seat in shame. It’s a good thing that this bar is close enough to the castle, to be used to the sight of knights and nobility and royalty frequenting their table, because most of the people drinking don’t even bat an eye at His Majesty, King Dimitri, coming down just to chew Margrave Gautier out. “He said you agreed to a spar, and never showed up.”

“Gah,” Sylvain groans, throwing an overdramatic arm over his eyes. “C’mon, I’d like to be able to feel my arms tomorrow.”

“Then you should have just said no,” Dimitri counters. Sylvain looks him a _ look _ at that.

“You’re asking me,” he says, in incredulous disbelief, “to turn Felix down when he demands a spar?”

Dimitri shrugs unsympathetically.

“Deal with it,” he says very diplomatically, as expected of a king. Sylvain pouts, crossing his arms.

“I’m staying here,” he announces. Dimitri side eyes him.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, “at least I can say that I tried.”

Sylvain shoots him a peace sign, at that.

“Attaboy!”

“Please do not ever say that to me again,” Dimitri requests, before turning to Ashe. He smiles, his face lighting up, and oh Goddess Ashe has to look away because he cannot handle this. “Ashe!” he says, adoration clear in his tone, and _ fuck. _ “I was wondering where you had gone.”

“Guh,” is Ashe’s reply, his tongue heavy and his head spinning. Dimitri blurs in and out of focus, which is really disappointing because Ashe likes looking at Dimitri in focus. He really, really, really likes looking at Dimitri in focus.

Dimitri’s smile falters, as he peers at Ashe in concern.

“Ashe?” he asks, worry creeping into his voice. “Are you alright?”

Ashe opens his mouth, and tests his words.

“Uh,” he says, his tongue feeling twisted and his words near incoherent, “I drank.”

“I can see that,” says Dimitri, very patiently. And then he turns to Sylvain. _ “How did you let this happen.” _

“I don’t know! It was an accident!” Sylvain tries to defend himself.

“Were you not watching him?!”

“Look,” Sylvain says, holding his hands up, “I was like, super engrossed in the conversation, okay. I didn’t realise how much he drank. 

“Why did he drink so much?” Dimitri looks like a confused, kicked puppy. Sylvain winces. 

“He’s, uh,” Sylvain steals a glance at Ashe. Ashe stares back, dazedly, at him. Sylvain winces, again. “Uh. Having a crisis? I don’t know. Don’t judge him.”

“Why would I judge him,” Dimitri sends Sylvain an almost _ hurt _look at that. And, for the third time in approximately four seconds, Sylvain winces. Again.

“Uh.”

Dimitri sighs, shaking his head. “Actually, forget it,” he tells Sylvain, then turns to Ashe. “What’s wrong, Ashe?” he asks, with wide, earnest eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Ashe looks at him for a few, long moments, his mouth hanging just slightly open as his mind struggles to contemplate the question. There’s a few answers Ashe could give, he knows. 

One, just outright denial. But that’s too much, Ashe thinks. An obvious lie, considering the state of himself and what Sylvain had just said, and Dimitri will know that Ashe is lying, and Dimitri will be upset, and Dimitri will question himself and wonder if he’s too untrustworthy-

_ Nope, _ Ashe thinks. _ Next._

Two, the truth. He could spill all his most private thoughts, the fantasies he entertains in the dark of his room as he pictures Dimitri in shining white armor. And yet-

There is no easy way to say _ I want you to dress up as your dead ancestor and then suck your dick. _

So Ashe doesn't.

Or three: he could say nothing at all.

This, Ashe decides, is the best decision he has ever made in his entire life.

In lieu of speaking, he sways and leans fully into Dimitri, his head pillowed into Dimitri's chest. It's nice and broad and warm, Ashe thinks. 

"Soft," he mutters, muffled against Dimitri's body. "Mmmm. Wanna sleep."

Dimitri looks down at him, endeared fondness written all over his face. In the background, Sylvain whistles, long and low, but manages to summon enough tact to keep it at just that.

"Come, now, Ashe," Dimitri coaxes. "Let's get you back home.”

"Okay," Ashe murmurs, but doesn't move. He wants to stay here, nestled against Dimitri forever.

Dimitri sighs down at him. There’s a beat, where the king stares contemplatively, as if considering his next course of action. Sylvain watches with bated breath and his glass clutched tightly in his hands. One second, two, three- 

And then Ashe’s world is tilting around him, as he’s bodily lifted up and up. Dimitri swings him up with ease, an arm hooked under his knees and a hand supporting Ashe’s back, as Dimitri carries Ashe like he would a bride. Ashe jerks slightly in shock at everything abruptly spinning on its axis, and when his slow mind finally catches up to what’s happening-

A hot thrum runs through his body. Heat fills his veins, and Ashe is suddenly hyper aware of every one of Dimitri’s muscles pressed against him. The way Dimitri is dressed down casually, his arms laid bare for the world to see in the too tight shirt he’s wearing. How the king doesn’t even strain under Ashe’s whole weight, how he can still _ bounce Ashe up in the air, _Ashe’s body touching nothing for a solid, incredible moment, as Dimitri tries to adjust him into a more comfortable position. 

Dazedly, Ashe wonders just what else Dimitri could do to him with his monstrous strength.

Thankfully, the intense shot of arousal dissipates just as quickly as it arrives. It sinks back down to the alcohol induced, fuzzy feeling in the pit of Ashe’s stomach. Ashe is still flushed red, his head spinning with thoughts, but that blush, at least, he can blame on the alcohol.

Thank the Goddess for alcohol, honestly.

Ashe clings tightly onto Dimitri (well, as tightly as he can manage, considering his arms feel like limp noodles at the moment), as the man straightens up, preparing to leave. Sylvain shoots a cheery wave at them, sitting back in his chair and lifting his drink to his lips. 

“You’re really not leaving,” Dimitri says, eyeing Sylvain. Sylvain shakes his head.

“Nope!” he says, much too enthusiastic for a man with a death wish.

“Don’t blame me if Felix actually kills you,” Dimitri warns.

“Felix is always trying to kill me,” Sylvain shrugs. “It’s scheduled in my calendar, at this point.”

Dimitri sighs, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Ashe stares, blatantly.

“I see,” Dimitri says, sounding amused despite himself. “Well then. Goodnight, Sylvain.” 

“Night!”

“Night,” Ashe slurs quietly as well, from where his head is still pillowed against Dimitri’s chest. Sylvain waves, and when Dimitri turns to leave, he shoots Ashe a surreptitious thumbs up. 

_ I hope Felix kills him, _ Ashe thinks, mildly incoherently. 

The cool air outside is a shock to Ashe’s system, and he shivers, sobering just slightly. It’s enough to let him feel a beat of mortification; the king carrying him in his arms in public, but it’s quickly chased away by the warm glow of the alcohol thrumming through his body. It helps, as well, that at this time of night, not many are out and about. And if they are, then, well, they should know enough to mind their own business.

Dimitri ducks into a secluded alley, taking a more discreet path back to the castle. As a member of Dimitri’s personal knights, Ashe naturally has a room in one of the many, many wings of the castle. So Ashe doesn’t think too much of it when they near the castle, the glimmering lights and regal architecture swimming in Ashe’s vision.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to realise that they are not, in fact, heading to Ashe’s quarters. Ashe blinks, long and slow, at the unfamiliar hallways around him. Belatedly, he registers that this is the path to _ Dimitri’s _ room.

He makes a soft, confused noise in the back of his throat, and Dimitri momentarily pauses in his footsteps, before continuing on.

“Awake, now?” Dimitri asks, affection clear in his voice.

_ I wasn’t asleep, _ Ashe considers protesting, but to be fair, he had been pretty out of it their whole journey here. So he settles for a nod, instead, as he snuggles closer into Dimitri. Like this, he can feel the vibrations from Dimitri’s chest, as he chuckles, low and deep.

“Go back to sleep,” Dimitri tells him.

_ No, _ Ashe wants to say, but it comes out as a whine, instead. Dimitri seems to understand, anyway, and Ashe is treated to another set of those rumbles in Dimitri’s chest.

Ashe dozes off, just a bit, coming back around when Dimitri reaches his quarters, and manages to fumble the door open. He blinks at the harsh light, squinting up at the ceiling blearily.

Ashe has been in Dimitri’s room before. Never for too long, never for the night, but it’s not a new place to him. Still, the size of it is staggering. Much more decorated, much more spacious than Ashe’s own humble space. There’s a bed (obviously), a desk (obviously), a couch, even (not so obviously). A glimmering chandelier hangs in the middle of the room. Ashe, frankly, isn’t quite sure why anyone would need a chandelier in their bedroom, but royalty will be royalty, he supposes.

Dimitri lays him down in his soft, soft bed, and Ashe sinks into it with a comfortable sigh, as Dimitri pulls the covers up and over him. For a split second, Ashe thinks Dimitri’s going to join him, but the king turns away, facing the couch at the other end of the room.

Ashe does not like this at all.

“Dimitri,” he calls out, speech still garbled and tongue a deadweight in his mouth. At the sound of his name, Dimitri turns back around, blinking curiously at Ashe. Ashe looks up at him, vulnerable and soft. “Sleep here?” 

Dimitri huffs out a small laugh. 

“I’m not leaving,” he tells Ashe. Ashe reaches out, gripping his wrist loosely, and tugs.

“Here,” he repeats, and Dimitri flushes red. 

“Ashe,” Dimitri says, and stops. Ashe tugs on his arm, one final time, and Dimitri capitulates, lets himself get pulled into bed. He could easily break free of Ashe’s drunken, weak hold, they both know, but he falls down next to Ashe anyway.

Ashe hums in contentment, and slings an arm over Dimitri. For a brief moment, Dimitri stiffens, but then he slowly, steadily relaxes into the touch.

And after a beat, Dimitri shifts closer, Ashe’s head now tucked into the crook of his neck, their legs tangling together under the covers. It’s nice and warm, Ashe thinks. Dimitri’s arms slung over him, his head resting atop Ashe’s. The way his chest rises and falls rhythmically against Ashe. 

Ashe falls asleep to the sound of Dimitri’s quiet breathing, and it’s the best rest he’s gotten in a while.

The next day, Ashe wakes up with a pounding hangover, and a perfect view of Dimitri's perfect face. Despite the intense pain in his head, it's a good start to the day. Especially when Dimitri brings him tea, and breakfast, and just dotes on him in general.

Totally worth it, Ashe decides.

Unfortunately, no good thing lasts forever. Ashe steps back into his own room after bidding Dimitri goodbye with a kiss, and is instantly greeted by four faces looking back at him.

"Ashe," says Ingrid. Dedue, Sylvain and Felix are sitting by her sides on Ashe's bed. They all look incredibly serious. "We need to talk."

"Oh no," says Ashe, heart already sinking with dread.

“It’s nothing bad!” Ingrid hurriedly backpedals. She holds her hands up. “I swear-“ 

“It’s terrible,” Felix tells Ashe bluntly.

“Felix!”

“He’s right, though,” Sylvain chimes in. “I think if I have to bear this any longer, I might actually die of secondhand embarrassment?”

“Die, then,” says Felix unsympathetically.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?! I’m _ backing you up here-“ _

“The _ both _of you-“ 

“Ashe,” Dedue says, looking him right in the face, to the ever familiar noises of Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain all bickering in the background. He says the next sentence in an utterly serious and sincere tone. “Please just tell His Majesty that you wish to have sex with him.”

Ashe chokes on air. 

Ingrid coughs, successfully distracted from her argument. Felix and Sylvain are still glaring at each other, but reluctantly, they quieten down as well. 

“Well,” Ingrid tries to bring them back on track, “that was...certainly a direct way of putting it, but yes. Dedue is right.” 

“Can we please not talk about this,” Ashe begs, already considering and discarding the best escape routes out of this entire conversation that Ashe would prefer to never have in his entire life, thanks.

“No,” says Ingrid.

“The sexual tension is literally killing me here,” Sylvain pipes up. “And also, if I ever have to listen to your drunken ramblings about giving His Majesty a blowjob again, I will actually lock the both of you up in a closet. Together.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Felix mutters by his side, but Sylvain elects to ignore him.

“Seriously,” Sylvain says, still staring at Ashe. _ “Closet.” _

“Sylvain is spiritually right,” says Ingrid, and Sylvain looks at her in surprise.

“Okay, firstly, what the fuck does that even mean? Secondly, holy shit, are you actually _ agreeing _ with me-“

“Shut up,” Ingrid tells him.

“Ashe,” Dedue says, again, still looking at Ashe with the same deadpan expression. “Please. I do not believe I can handle this much longer. Just the other day, His Majesty came up to me, and asked if, in his exact words, ‘he was doing anything wrong, because Ashe keeps avoiding my gaze and oh Goddess, Dedue, is he going to break up with me? Am I too boring? Am I actually a terrible partner but Ashe is just too polite to tell me-“

“Am I having a stroke,” Sylvain tries to whisper, but everyone hears him anyway.

“If you are,” says Felix, calmly, “then I am as well.”

“Both of you,” Ingrid tells them. “Shut up.”

“Dude, I legitimately cannot handle the words coming out of Dedue’s mouth right now, the fucking _ disconnect _ between him and his sentences, like-“

“Did you actually memorise what he said, word for word,” Ashe asks Dedue incredulously, ignoring the three of them with an experienced ease.

"It was not on purpose," Dedue demurs.

"Um.” 

"In any case," Ingrid cuts in, "This is a serious issue."

"Yeah, the unresolved sexual tension is real deadly," Felix drawls. "It killed two people just the other day."

"I was one of the two," Sylvain adds on. "And now I'm a ghost. Oooo, spooky."

"Shut up," says Ingrid, for the third time in two minutes.

"I have the right to free speech-"

"Free speech does not protect you from these free hands," Ingrid tells him.

Sylvain, wisely, shuts up. 

_ “Um,” _ repeats Ashe, with feeling. Felix sighs, loudly.

“Okay fine,” he joins in. “Ashe, stop being a coward-“

“Oh my Goddess,” Ingrid covers her face with her hands.

“-and tell Dimitri that you want his dick,” Felix finishes aggressively. “Or I will do it _ for you.” _

Ashe looks at him, momentarily speechless. And then he regains his voice.

“If you do that,” Ashe tells Felix, calmly, serenely, in order to mask his complete and utter inner panic, “I will steal all your swords from your room and throw them off a cliff.”

“I’ll throw _ you _ off a cliff.”

“Nobody’s throwing anything or anybody off a cliff!” Ingrid yells, exasperated. “We are going to sit down, and very calmly discuss how Ashe is going to tell Dimitri about-“ 

“How much he wants to ride that dick,” Sylvain finishes.

_ “No.” _

“Oh, Ashe definitely wants to ride that dick,” snorts Felix in rare agreement. Dedue looks at Ashe. 

“Is this true,” he asks, and he does not sound like he’s joking in the slightest.

“I’m,” says Ashe. _ “I’m.”_

(It’s true. But Ashe isn’t going to just _ say _that.)

“Everyone, please,” begs Ingrid, “can we just have a serious conversation here. Just once.” 

“Dude,” points out Sylvain, “the premise of this entire thing was us trying to convince Ashe to tell Dimitri about how horny he is. I don’t know where you got the idea that this would be even remotely serious.”

“I hate you,” Ingrid tells him. 

“Wow. Okay,” Sylvain says, sounding incredibly unsurprised.

“We do not require there to be actual intercourse,” Dedue steers the conversation back onto its terrible, terrible track. “We simply ask that you inform His Majesty of your desires, such that we can prevent any misunderstandings from occurring in the future.” 

“And also so that you can get that dick,” Sylvain adds. Dedue looks at him in judgemental silence. Sylvain looks back, unrepentant. “What?” he asks, shamelessly. 

“...Anyway,” says Ingrid, pointedly not acknowledging Sylvain. “What Dedue said. Just- okay. Look. You are so _ obviously _drooling over His Majesty-“ 

“Call him out!” Sylvain yells. 

“-but seeing as how His Majesty is also, dare I say, a fucking idiot-“

“Dare,” Felix says unashamedly. 

“-he has no idea what you’re thinking,” Ingrid says. “So please just put us all out of our misery, and _ tell _ him. It’s painful to watch. Truly.”

“Ghhhhhhhh,” says Ashe incoherently, his ability to think broken beyond repair.

A beat of silence. And then Sylvain breaks it. As he does.

“Okay, but actually, what is he going to say,” he leans over and whispers into Ingrid’s ear. Much like his last attempt, everyone hears him anyway. 

“What does that even mean,” Felix looks disdainfully at Sylvain. Sylvain throws his hands up in the air.

“I mean, like, come on, we gotta be fair, here!” he protests. “You’re really telling me that you’re just going to waltz up to His Royal Majesty, all like, _ hey, could you maybe fuck my brains out-“ _

_ “Nobody is asking him to say that, here,” _ Ingrid hisses.

“Well, how else are you supposed to say it?”

“With tact,” Dedue deadpans.

“I don’t know what that word means,” says Sylvain. Ashe is pretty sure he’s joking, but also, it’s technically true, he thinks. In the sense that Sylvain has most likely never, ever willingly used tact before in his life. 

“This is why I fucking hate you,” Felix informs Sylvain.

“You love me, buddy.”

_ “Anyway,” _ Ingrid says, desperately, trying to bring them back to...whatever the hell they were talking about, previously. “Just- Just ask to speak privately-“

“Woah.”

“-shut the fuck _ up, _ Sylvain! Ask to speak privately, and then say that you have some concerns over the, er, pace of your relationship-“

“Do you actually think Dimitri will take that well?” Felix asks Ingrid, point-blank. “He’s insecure enough with knightboy over here-“ 

“Hey,” Ashe protests the nickname weakly, but Felix just steamrolls over him.

“-following him around like a lovesick puppy, you think if Mr. Shit Taste-“ 

“Okay, that’s going too far,” says Ashe with a frown, but Felix once again ignores him.

“-actually told him, to his face, that he has _ problems _ with their state of their relationship, that Dimitri won’t just fall into one of his inconsolate depressive episodes?” Felix finishes bluntly.

There’s a brief, awkward silence in the room, as they ponder that thought. 

“...Do you really think so?” Ingrid asks after a pause, concern evident in her tone. Dedue shakes his head, though.

“You are underestimating His Majesty,” he says, an almost chastisement. He looks at Ashe. “Simply follow your heart, and speak your own words. There is a reason why His Majesty has chosen you, after all.”

Ashe blinks. He feels...oddly touched, actually.

“Oh,” he says, and smiles. “...Thank you, Dedue.”

“I am merely speaking my thoughts aloud,” Dedue dips his head in acknowledgement.

“...Damn, that’s deep,” Sylvain very badly whispers, once more, into the silence.

“I will actually slit-“

_ “Boys,” _ says Ingrid. She turns to Ashe, and smiles, gently. “There’s no need to be worried. Even if anything happens, we’ll be here to back you up.”

“Don’t speak for me,” says Felix.

Ingrid casually backhands him without looking back. Felix lets out a muffled curse, and cradles his cheek. 

“Erm, right,” Ashe mutters, awkwardly shuffling his feet. Goddess, he should have just left before anyone even started speaking. Who would have stopped him?

...Ingrid, probably. She’d have followed him out of the room, and chased him down just to drag him back-

In retrospect, Ashe thinks, there truly was no way out.

“Just have confidence,” Ingrid is still speaking, “and then-“

“Okay,” says Sylvain, seemingly deciding that it is now his turn to ruin Ashe’s life once more, “so like, we’ve covered that, right? We’re done here, right?”

_ “Yes,” _ says Ashe, just wanting it all to be over already, but of course Sylvain just chooses to swerve in the opposite, worse direction. 

“Cool, cool, cool,” says Sylvain. He leans in, head supported by his hands. “So, let’s talk about your sex life.”

“We’re already talking about his sex life, idiot.”

“No, I mean his _ sex _ sex life, Felix-“

“Does he even have a sex life,” Ingrid blurts out, then claps her hands over her mouth in blushing horror at herself. _ “Oh Goddess I’m so sorry-“ _

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” Sylvain winks, grinning delightedly. He turns back to Ashe. “So. Ashe.”

Ashe is already turning to the door.

“Wait, _ no-“ _

There’s a sudden clamor in the room, as everyone simultaneously tries to stop Ashe from walking out. Ashe yelps as Ingrid grips his wrist, tight and hard, dragging him bodily backward. 

“Sorry,” she apologises, but she doesn’t sound very contrite.

“I am never lending you my copy of _ Loog of the Weak _ again,” Ashe hisses at her.

“Sorry,” repeats Ingrid, but shoves him down onto the bed anyway.

Ashe puts his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of the bed, as everyone else stands surrounding him. No ways of escape. No chance to leave. This is a waking nightmare.

“Okay, I need to just ask this straight, yes or no,” Sylvain tells him, tone utterly serious. “Are you a virgin.” 

“I do not see how this is relevant to the matter at hand,” says Dedue, as Ashe lets out a long, distressed groan.

“I mean,” says Sylvain, “if we’re trying to convince him and His Majesty to fuck, then we gotta have some idea of his experience level here, yeah? So we don’t, just like, throw them to the wolves-“ 

“You just want to gossip,” Ingrid accuses.

Sylvain shrugs, not bothering to deny it.

“You’re _ incorrigible-“ _

“So does that mean I can leave now,” asks Ashe.

“What, too afraid to answer the question?” Felix snorts, smirking down at Ashe. “What’s wrong?”

That _ bastard. _ He _ knows, _ and Ashe _ knows, _ and they both _ know. _

Ashe looks at Felix, straight in the eye, and decides that if he’s already going down, he might as well take others down with him.

“I don’t know, Felix,” Ashe says angelically, “Am I a virgin? And here I thought _ you _of all people should know.”

The implication does not fall on deaf ears. Sylvain and Ingrid cut off their argument, in lieu of turning, slowly, steadily, to stare at Felix. 

Felix looks at Ashe, resigned.

_ Fine, you win this round, _he mouths, before Sylvain and Ingrid descend upon him with all the grace of starving wolves.

“Holy shit, _ Felix, dude, what the f-“ _

“Was it the Loog porn?” Ingrid takes Felix by the shoulders and shakes him, a vaguely crazed look in her eyes. “It was the Loog porn, wasn’t it?!”

“The Loog _ what-“ _Sylvain is blurting out, as Dedue blinks.

“I do not understand,” he says flatly.

In the midst of the chaos, Ashe takes the chance to escape. _ Success, _ he thinks, and tries not to ponder the ramifications of revealing such, uh, sensitive information. 

Well, whatever. Felix can deal with it. ...Maybe.

In any case, all Ashe has to do is talk to Dimitri, and then they’ll all be appeased, and then hopefully they’ll all forget that this entire conversation ever happened.

Simple, right?

Ashe does not do it. He is a coward, and a fool, and Felix (privately) shames him while they spar in the training grounds, but the point is this: Ashe does not bring it up with Dimitri. 

"You're killing me, Ashe," Sylvain tells him. "You're killing all of us. You're tearing this family _ apart, _Ashe."

_ "I'm sorry," _Ashe says, and then continues to not do anything about it.

In his defense, how is he just...supposed to bring it up? Just, like, oh yeah, go up to the reigning monarch of the land and be all like, _ hey, so I’ve been having some qualms with how slow our relationship has been going, and I was thinking. Want to go to third base? Or hit a homerun? Also if you dress up as Loog as well that'd be cool as well. No pressure, though. And also- _

No! Ashe can't just _ do _that. The only person he thinks who would even be able to try would be Sylvain, Ashe thinks, because of his utter shamelessness and lack of decency. Also, he's a slut.

"Wow, okay," says Sylvain, sounding mildly offended. "I mean. I guess you're not wrong, but did you really just have to say it out loud?"

Ashe ignores him.

It gets to the point where Ashe is so pent up, he's absolutely terrified that just randomly, in the middle of the castle or something, he's going to catch a glimpse of Dimitri and pop a boner. Or something.

He's desperate. This is the excuse he uses, in an attempt to suppress his shame when he makes a terrible, terrible mistake: he digs around the Loog fannovel he could never quite bring himself to discard, takes it out, and starts to read.

So, maybe, he’d based Loog a little bit off of Dimitri. And maybe, he’d based his _ original character _ a little bit off of himself. Just a little. And maybe, when he was in the midst of writing this among the turmoil of war, he was thinking of, hoping for, happier times, when peace could be the norm and Dimitri wasn’t dead.

He’d told himself, after the five-year reunion, after Dimitri kissed him on that starry, starry night, that he didn’t need this anymore. That he could safely stow away this self-indulgent, naive nonsense, that only he and two other people know about.

(Ingrid and Felix stumbling over it had been mortifying. Still is mortifying, actually. But Ingrid had actually gotten incredibly into it, and Felix kept sneaking it out behind Ashe’s back to make little caustic notes and edits in the margins-

It was, Ashe reflects, surprisingly nice.)

And yet, here he is. Again. Reading over his own writing, dog-earing the pages he wants to keep in his mind.

And, the most shameful part-

Looking at the sex scenes he’d written later into the story, the scenes with Felix’s handwriting scribbled all over them, with all his cutting commentary and critique of the realism (“It’s just _ fantasy porn,” _ Ashe remembers himself wailing at the time) and the edits he’d made, forcing Ashe to sit down at his desk next to him, and painstakingly rewriting every word.

And that had led to- well. Ashe really shouldn’t be thinking of such things, now.

In any case, it’s not _ that _ that Ashe thinks about, in the dead of the night when he reads. It’s Loog, and Duran (his origina- okay, fine, it’s just Ashe but cooler and nicer and better, _ fine), _and the way they smile at each other as Loog presses Duran gently down into the bed, and sometimes, Ashe reads their names as two different (but the same) people altogether as his hand reaches down. 

These, too, are the pages that Ashe dog-ears.

It’s a terrible decision that has terrible consequences, and really, Ashe isn’t sure why he’s still surprised when it absolutely backfires on him.

Ashe enters his room, one day, and finds Dimitri sitting on his bed. This is not an irregular occurrence. Dimitri seems to like hanging out in Ashe’s room, an escape from his kingly duties, perhaps. At first, he’d staunchly refused to even enter, citing propriety and respect for Ashe’s privacy, but after enough instances of Ashe wrangling him through the door, and assuring him that he was fine with it, Dimitri no longer has any qualms using the keys to get in, even when Ashe isn’t present.

It’s nice, honestly. Being greeted by Dimitri’s smiling face after a long day of work. 

For a moment, Ashe beams back, his body relaxing and going soft. An instinctual reaction, by now, to the sight of the king. But then he glances down, at Dimitri’s hands gripping some very familiar papers-

Ashe lunges forward.

Dimitri allows Ashe to yank his shame out of his hands, blinking slow and confused at the younger man as Ashe goes utterly red, sputtering and stammering and hurriedly shoving the papers back into his drawer. 

Dimitri jerks back, as Ashe turns on him.

_ “Did you read it,” _ Ashe hisses, his voice cracking from the sheer humiliation. Oh Goddess. He _ swore _ he locked them up, nice and tight last night. _ How did Dimitri get his hands on them. _

“...Um,” Dimitri clears his throat, evidently sensing that something is terribly, terribly wrong. “...It was very well-written?” he tries weakly.

Ashe sinks to the ground, feeling his legs give out underneath him. He curls his head into his knees, his hands gripping his hair in despair.

In the darkness of his blocked vision, Ashe hears the shuffling of bedsheets, and footsteps as Dimitri approaches his crouched form. And then there’s a gentle hand, patting his back and stroking him.

“There, there,” he soothes, and Ashe moans in distress. “Er. I apologise? I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that, it was wrong of me, I was simply curious about the stack of papers… Please forgive me.”

“It’s alright,” Ashe mumbles. It’s not, actually, but he can’t just say that. “...How much did you read?”

“Um,” says Dimitri, which is already not a good sign.

“Oh no.”

“I mostly looked at the dog-eared pages,” admits Dimitri, and oh _ no. _

Ashe curls up even further.

“So you _ read,” _ he chokes on the words, and stops just short of saying them. _ My porn. _

“Um,” says Dimitri, again, which is essentially just a confirmation.

Ashe wants to disappear. He wants to sink into the floorboards, and never come back out.

“...It was well-written,” Dimitri repeats, a poor attempt at comfort. 

“Just kill me,” Ashe requests.

“I’d rather not.”

“Please?”

“Not even then,” Dimitri tells him.

“Please forget everything about this,” Ashe begs him. 

“I will try,” Dimitri says, in utmost seriousness.

“Thanks,” Ashe says, miserably. 

They’re both silent, for a moment. And then Dimitri coughs, awkward and embarrassed and curious.

“Er, Ashe,” he says, and Ashe finally manages to bring his head up to look at the man. Dimitri is flushed red, his gaze averted, an unsure hand at his chin. “F-Forgive me for prying, but… Um.”

Ashe lets his face fall back into the safety of his knees. But he answer anyway, muffled and quiet.

“I wrote it,” he says, “during the war. Before we met up again. It was. Er. A way to destress?”

“I see,” says Dimitri, still sounding confused. His next question comes after a long hesitation. “And. Er. The- um.”

_ The sex, _ Ashe fills in the blanks. Goddess, he wants to die.

“I,” he says. “Um. This is hard to say. Uh. I. _ Um.” _

“I...see,” repeats Dimitri, weakly.

“I think Loog is very attractive,” Ashe blurts out, and then immediately shuts down.

He curls even further into himself, then tips over onto side and lays on the ground, still in the fetal position. There is a very loud silence from Dimitri.

This is the worst, actually.

“Um,” says Dimitri.

“And you,” Ashe continues, desperate and not entirely in control of himself as everything comes spilling out. Goddess. Maybe he is sexually repressed. Maybe Sylvain was right all along, and this is his emotional eruption, in the absolute worst way and at the absolute worst time possible. “You are also very attractive.” 

Ashe can’t see Dimitri’s face, but he can picture it; beet red, mouth opening and closing in speechless shock, his blue eyes wide.

“And I want,” Ashe keeps on speaking, hysterically, because he’s lost control over his life, “to have sex with you, and that’s why I’ve been acting so weird lately, because I want! To have sex with you! And everytime! I see your face! I am vividly reminded of that fact!”

Ashe is fairly certain that Dimitri is actually choking, right now, but he continues to bulldoze on, because if he doesn’t get it all out now, he never will. Partially because right after he’s done talking, he’s just going to jump out the window and never return. 

“And now I have regressed to reading the Loog porn that I wrote two years ago,” he rambles, “and imagining you in place of Loog and me in place of Duran and picturing you dressed up as Loog while we have sex.”

Ashe takes a deep breath. 

_ “Because I want to have sex with you!” _ he finishes, unhinged and loud, in the silence of Ashe’s room. It echoes, like the sound of a death toll. 

Ashe breaths, harsh and panting, his heart racing in his chest from adrenaline. 

Dimitri is still, ominously, silent.

“...Please, say something,” Ashe pleads, voice cracking.

“...I,” says Dimitri. He sounds shell-shocked. “Um. I.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashe whispers, trying his best to mold into the floor. “Oh Goddess. Oh my-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I-“ there’s a thump, as Dimitri settles himself on the floor. Then a gentle hand, running its way through Ashe’s hair. “No. Please, don’t say that, Ashe. I should be the one apologising for, er, not noticing your. Um. Feelings.” 

Ashe laughs, dry, and mildly hysterical, and not at all humorous.

“That is certainly one way to put it,” he says. “My- urgh. _ Feelings.” _

“Are they not?” Dimitri asks genuinely. “No matter what you may think of them, these are your feelings all the same, are they not?” 

Ashe is silent, at that. 

“...I...suppose,” he admits, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. “But still-“

“Shush, Ashe,” Dimitri says, a small thread of amusement in his tone. His fingers curl, massaging gently into Ashe’s scalp. “It is alright.” 

“...Okay,” Ashe swallows, and leans into Dimitri’s touch. A quiet hum, and then Dimitri is gently tugging Ashe up, rearranging him and pillowing Ashe’s head on his lap, Ashe’s body finally stretching out from his cramped position. His covered thighs are firm against Ashe, and unwillingly, even through all the red hot embarrassment and the entire humiliation Ashe had just put himself through, a spike of arousal runs through Ashe. He shivers, and shifts, discreetly, onto his stomach.

...So maybe he was sexually repressed. Damnit.

Dimitri’s hands stutter, briefly, as they card through his hair, before they continue on their leisurely pace. So Dimitri had noticed Ashe’s movement after all, and successfully guessed at the reason. Ashe should feel embarrassed, _ would _feel embarrassed, if not for being utterly wrung out and emotionally exhausted at this point in time.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pressing his face into Dimitri’s legs. They’re nice legs. And Ashe really, really shouldn’t go any further down this train of thought, because that just reeks of disaster. Well, another disaster, at any rate.

“It is alright,” Dimitri repeats. “Although, I do wish that you had told me earlier. Perhaps, in a more, er, controlled setting.”

“Sorry,” Ashe says, again. He curls in on himself slightly. “I. I was very embarrassed.”

“So I have noticed,” Dimitri says, dryly.

“Just, gah,” Ashe fumbles. “I. We’ve just been taking everything very slow so far. And, um, no offense, but you’ve just seemed very, er, that is-“

“Prudish,” finishes Dimitri. Ashe presses his face even further into Dimitri’s leg.

“I was going to say easily embarrassed,” he mumbles.

“I’m not offended. It is the truth, after all,” Dimitri laughs, quiet and soft. “Or, well, in a sense. I am,” here, Dimitri hesitates for a moment, before soldiering on, “still rather unused to it all. There are times when I wake up, and I still can’t believe it all to be real. That this isn’t a dream.”

Ashe breathes, slow and deep. And he reaches out, and takes one of Dimitri’s hands into his own.

“I’m real,” he says. “I’m here.”

Dimitri’s breath is shuddering.

“I know,” he says, and squeezes Ashe’s hand. “And forever, I am grateful for that.”

_ There is nothing to be grateful for, _ Ashe could say. _ This is not a favor. This is not a prize. I am here because I want to be._

But he doesn’t, because that level of sincerity might just kill the both of them. Ashe has a reputation for being overly embarrassing and sincere in his ideals, but he does not lack shyness, either. 

So instead, he nuzzles into Dimitri, and lets his body do the talking for him. His lips press, ever so gently, into Dimitri’s thigh. Dimitri goes stiff, muscles tensing but he doesn’t push Ashe off. And so Ashe takes the implicit invitation, and lightly kisses a trail up, and up, to Dimitri’s hip. And there, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, up onto his hands and knees, as he continues following an invisible path with his lips.

Dimitri exhales, long and slow, trembling just slightly, as Ashe reaches his exposed neck, now straddling his hips with his knees on the ground and hands grasping Dimitri’s shoulders. Ashe can feel the vibrations from him, his heartbeat thudding at the corner of his jaw, and he can see with clarity the blush across Dimitri’s face.

Ashe pulls back, just a bit, his breath still hot on Dimitri’s face. And Dimitri closes his eyes, as Ashe tilts his head, and moves back in, his lips meeting Dimitri’s.

It starts off soft and tender. Like any other one of their kisses. Ashe moves gentle against Dimitri, pressing into Dimitri’s chapped lips. Dimitri’s hands come up to support Ashe, one holding the small of his back and the other cupping Ashe’s face as they mold into one another.

And then Dimitri opens his mouth.

Perhaps Ashe is a little too eager when he reciprocates the gesture, his tongue darting out to lick into Dimitri. The way his body presses flush against the older man, his hands coming up to grip Dimitri’s hair.

But, as they have just established, Ashe _ wants. _

So it’s a messy exchange, as Ashe sighs into Dimitri’s mouth, tries his best to go even closer, to mindlessly thrust his tongue in and in and swap his spit with Dimitri’s.

Dimitri, predictably, is the one to break away first, red-faced and gasping for air. Ashe, almost instinctively, starts to chase after him, leaning back in, but he manages to restrain himself in time and jerks away. Dimitri looks…

Dimitri looks…

Overwhelmed, would be the best word for it. He’s a mess, panting and blushing, his clothes rumpled and his hair a bird’s nest. The sight sends a throb through Ashe’s body, and abruptly, he realises that he is painfully hard against Dimitri.

Ashe clambers off quickly, now burning red for a reason other than exertion, spitting and mumbling quiet apologies as he goes.

Dimitri, if it’s possible, goes even redder, and averts his gaze. A tiny, tiny part of Ashe is disappointed at the gesture, but he forcibly shoves it down. _ No, _ he inwardly scolds himself. _ Bad Ashe. Wait for Dimitri to be comfortable before draping yourself all over him. _

“It’s alright,” Dimitri says weakly, but he’s still not looking at Ashe. “I. Er. Wow.”

“Wow,” Ashe echoes, and pushes down the hysterical wave of laughter that threatens to bubble out from him.

Goddess. Did they really just do that? And here Ashe was thinking it would be _ months _ before Dimitri would ever work up the courage to- to- 

It’s nice. It’s really nice, Ashe thinks.

Ashe moves and leans back against the foot of his bed, dazed and on a high. His dick is still stiff, demanding his attention, but Ashe just crosses his legs and hope that if he ignores it long enough, it’ll go away on its own. 

_ Fat chance, _ Ashe thinks. Not when Dimitri is right there in front of him, and looking like _ that, _his everything mussed and his hair looking like he just walked out from the set of a porno.

His cock jumps again. Ashe has got to stop thinking about this.

After a moment, Dimitri settles beside him, his body warm against Ashe’s side, and his gaze still politely averted. He coughs, lightly, into his hand. 

“Um,” he starts, quiet and self-conscious. “Do you, er, need any. Um.”

Ashe ducks his head. 

“It’s fine,” he stammers out. “I’ll...I’ll take care of it myself. Later.”

“Okay,” Dimitri looks both guilty and relieved all at once. “Okay.”

“Please don’t feel bad.”

“Sorry.”

Ashe casts Dimitri a _ look _ for that. And Dimitri huffs out an amused breath, as he looks away.

“Yes,” he says. “I understand.”

“I hope so,” Ashe tells him. And Dimitri smiles, as he ducks his head like Ashe had.

They bask in a short, peaceful silence for a few seconds.

“I… I must admit,” Dimitri breaks it, eventually. “That. Er. I have...never done anything of this sort.”

Ashe waits patiently, as Dimitri gathers himself. 

“I have never…” Dimitri swallows, then says in a rush, “hadsexbefore.” 

Ashe hums.

“I figured,” he says, dryly. Dimitri blushes, as he looks away.

“Perhaps,” he admits, “that was a bit of a redundant statement.”

“Perhaps,” Ashe echoes. He leans his head onto Dimitri’s shoulder, and Dimitri, after a moment, leans back into him.

“...What about you?” he asks, eventually. Ashe blinks. 

“Me?”

“You,” Dimitri repeats. “Have you ever… you know.”

Ashe wets his lips, thinking about the ways to answer this question for a moment. To lie? To avoid answering entirely?

He decides on the truth, after a beat.

“Yes,” he replies. “I have.” 

“Oh,” Dimitri says, and he bites his lip. “Do I. Er. K-Know the person? Um, you don’t have to answer this. Sorry. I’m simply curious.”

Ashe chews on the inside of his cheek. This question, he thinks, is a lot harder to give the answer to. But in the end, Ashe still goes with the truth. 

“Yes,” says Ashe. Then he takes a breath, and the plunge. “It was Felix, actually.”

Dimitri jerks slightly against Ashe, evidently surprised. He blinks, wide-eyed, at Ashe.

“O-Oh,” he says. Ashe swallows.

“Are you,” he starts, hesitant, but Dimitri is already shaking his head.

“No, no, of course not, Ashe,” he says. “I was simply, well, surprised, is all. In your, er, choice of partner.”

“Ah,” Ashe says, and tries not to feel too relieved at Dimitri’s words. Really, he shouldn’t have worried in the first place. “Good.” 

Ashe lets himself fall, sliding down and leaning onto Dimitri’s torso. His head is pillowed against Dimitri’s chest, and he turns on his side, still trying his hardest to ignore his boner still begging for attention, as he closes his eyes and rests against Dimitri, the side of his cheek pressed into Dimitri’s shirt.

Dimitri breathes, quiet and low.

“I fear now,” he says, his hand reaching up to run gentle once more through Ashe’s hair, “that I will disappoint you when the time comes.”

“You could never,” Ashe tells him, sincere, and Dimitri smiles down at him, soft and fond all at once.

“Dude,” says Sylvain, point-blank, “His Majesty asked me for sex tips this morning. Ashe. What did you _ do.” _

Ashe blinks, mouth hanging open as he stares at Sylvain. Around them, servants and maids bustle through the castle hallway as they prepare for the day.

“W. What,” Ashe finally manages to squeak out, face suddenly burning hot. He looks around. “And also, can we _ please _ not have this conversation here?”

Sylvain opens his mouth. Closes it. Then he grabs Ashe by the wrist, ignoring Ashe’s yelp of pain at the tightness, and dragging him down the hall. It’s not long before Sylvain is slamming the door shut behind them in an empty conference room, and the man is whirling around to face him, his hands coming up to grab Ashe’s shoulders, and _ shake. _

“Ashe,” Sylvain says. “His Majesty literally came to my door, and he _ said, word for word, _ ‘Sylvain, how does one have sex?’ Like, okay, I’m all for helping people in need out, and like, it’s chill if people want relationship or sex advice, but dear _ Goddess _ do you _ know _ how awkward it was to have _ His Majesty standing outside my door at dawn and asking me about sex.”_

“The _ mechanics _ of it, Ashe!” Sylvain cries, shaking Ashe even harder. _ “He asked me about the ‘mechanics’ of sex, oh my Goddess.” _

“Sorry?” Ashe tries, his voice shrill and pitched high. “Um?”

“Like, you know,” Sylvain is still rambling. “I’m fine with people asking me for sex advice. Hell, I could give a damn seminar on fingering-“ 

“Please don’t,” says Ashe.

“-but like, listen, fucking, His Maje- no, saying that just feels surreal. Fucking _ Dimitri _ is so damn awkward it is legitimately painful to hear him talk, Ashe, I can’t take this,” Sylvain finishes, and drops his arms. He’s panting hard. _ “Put me out of my misery.” _

“...Sorry,” Ashe says, because he genuinely cannot process anything Sylvain has just told him.

Dimitri? Going to Sylvain for advice? Going to Sylvain for _ sex _advice? So that means that he’s thinking about-

Ashe goes red.

“Geh,” he chokes out. Sylvain peers at him.

“Okay, but seriously, what did you do,” he says. “I mean like, obviously, His Majesty has figured out your undying thirst for him-“

“We just talked!” Ashe cries out, wishing desperately for Sylvain to stop speaking. “I-I just. Talked!”

“Yeesh, okay, okay, gotcha,” Sylvain holds his hands up. “Just-“

_ “We talked.” _

“Okay, no prying!” Sylvain says frantically. “I just, uh, congratulations? I guess?”

“Thanks,” Ashe says weakly. 

“And also please tell His Majesty to go to the library,” Sylvain quickly tacks on. “I mean, I guess it’d be kinda awkward for like, the king to be checking out sex books, but seriously-“

“Please stop talking,” Ashe tells him.

Despite the trauma that Sylvain’s words have inflicted upon him (“Ashe, what the fuck, _ I’m _the one traumatised here-“), it does give Ashe some valuable information. And this is what leads to Ashe knocking on Dimitri’s door at night, waiting patiently as the king creaks it open.

“Oh,” Dimitri blinks down at him, then smiles. “Ashe.”

He steps aside, and Ashe lets himself in. It’s late, but Dimitri still appears to be working, a candle burning bright at his desk, papers scattered over the surface. Ashe frowns, understanding but disapproving all the same, and Dimitri raises a sheepish hand to the back of his own neck.

“My apologies for the mess,” he coughs. “That is, well, we’ve been having some issues with Count Charon lately, as you well know…”

“I’m aware,” Ashe sighs, dipping his head. “But I still can’t help but worry. Have you been sleeping?” 

Ashe strides over to the desk, and begins sweeping up the papers and rearranging him, clicking his tongue at the disorder. Dimitri tries to assist, but Ashe waves him off with an absent hand, and the king acquiesces, after a few moments.

“It’s not that I’ve _ not _ been sleeping,” Dimitri says carefully, as Ashe bustles around his room. “I’ve simply been swamped with work this month, and so-“ 

“Your health is also a priority,” Ashe says, once he’s assured that everything is put into place. He turns to face Dimitri. “If we have a sickly king, then whose shoulders will our burdens fall upon next?” 

Dimitri flushes.

“I’ve been trying,” he says. Ashe steps toward him, and stops just short, leaning the rest of the way into Dimitri, his arms coming up to loosely grip the back of Dimitri’s shirt. Dimitri hesitates, for a brief second, before relaxing and putting his arms around Ashe. 

“I know,” Ashe says. “You don’t have to _ justify _ yourself to me, you realise.” 

“It’s not like that,” Dimitri tells him. “I just wish for you to understand is all. How you feel, what you think. It’s important to me.”

It’s Ashe’s turn to flush, now, and he buries his face into the crook of Dimitri’s neck. His nightshirt is soft and silky against him, and just for a moment, Ashe wonders what it’d be like to don clothes such as this. But Dimitri is royalty, and Ashe is only a knight. It’s natural that even what they wear would differ. 

“I see,” mutters Ashe, and he tries not to let on just how lovesick and giddy he feels. It’s not a very good attempt, and Dimitri’s arms tighten around him, drawing him closer.

Ashe breathes in, and closes his eyes. Dimitri smells nice, he thinks hazedly. Yet another perk to having access to the finest of soaps, Ashe supposes. It had been a challenge, at first, getting Dimitri to remember to shower, and to remember to use the products granted to him, but by now, he manages.

“What did you come here for?” Dimitri’s chest rumbles against Ashe, and Ashe looks up, blinking. “Surely not just to lecture me.” Dimitri’s smile is warm and teasing, and Ashe has to look away, before he starts thinking _ things. _

“Oh, actually,” Ashe coughs. His arms drop back to his sides, and Dimitri releases him, allowing Ashe to take a step back. “I, well, came to ask about something Sylvain was saying earlier.” 

“Ah. Sylvain,” Dimitri says. He glances away, and Ashe’s gaze darts down when the king absently licks his lips, but Ashe forces his eyes back up. _ Focus, _he tells himself. “Did he…” 

So. Dimitri clearly has an idea of what Sylvain might have said. 

“He mentioned that you asked him for _ advice,” _ Ashe says, very carefully. Dimitri tints just the slightest hue of red, and he groans. 

“Ugh, why did I ever trust him to keep quiet about this?” he mutters, a hand coming up to his face as he shakes his head.

“You know,” Ashe says, still careful with his words, “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I’m not trying to pressure you, or anything, so if-“

“No, you- you’re not,” Dimitri sighs, dragging his hand down. “That’s not. I mean.”

Ashe waits as Dimitri collects himself. 

“No,” says Dimitri, finally. “This is...something that I want. I…”

He takes a shuddering breath. 

“If you are too unsure,” Ashe says. “Then perhaps-“

“I’m not,” Dimitri shakes his head. “I’m, simply- ugh. This is hard to say. I…” Dimitri makes an incoherent noise of frustration. “Urk. I… will admit that before you had brought it up, I hadn’t considered the thought. But ever since then, I’ve been thinking, that, um. That.” 

Dimitri stumbles over his words, stammering and stuttering, before he finally gives up, and finishes with, “W-Well, the point is that you aren’t...pressuring me. This is my own choice, that I’ve made of my own will. So please, do not fret.”

“...I understand,” Ashe says. He ducks his head down. Dimitri’s hands are fisted tightly into his own pants, the fabric bunching up around his knuckles, and Ashe reaches out to take them into his own. 

Dimitri lets him, and Ashe drags their joined hands to the space between them. Dimitri’s palms face down, as Ashe rubs circles into the back of his hand with a gentle thumb. 

_ My own choice of my own will, _ Ashe thinks. And when he swallows, he does not miss the way Dimitri’s gaze flickers down to his throat, his eyes tracing the bob of Ashe’s adam’s apple. 

His thoughts are heading back into dangerous territory. Ashe really needs to do more about this problem of his. 

“Do you,” Dimitri’s voice is hesitant, pausing between words, “want to stay the night?”

Dangerous, dangerous territory. 

“Okay,” agrees Ashe anyway, because there’s the way that Dimitri looks at him, and the way that Ashe thinks about the barely disguised hope in the king’s eyes; the way Dimitri’s hands feel in his own, rough and calloused and yielding.

Things do not progress for the next few weeks. Well, not noticeably for Ashe, in any case. There is a point where Felix comes up to him, knuckles white around the hilt of a training sword and aggravation clear from the way he strides toward Ashe. 

“Put a fucking leash on your boytoy,” Felix hisses, “and tell him that if he ever dares to ask me what you enjoy in bed again, that I will slit his throat. _ I know where he sleeps.” _

That had been an awkward moment, to say the least.

Nonetheless, Ashe doesn’t see much change in their status quo. There are times, now, where Ashe notices Dimitri’s gaze trailing down and over his body. Where he looks at Ashe’s lips, his throat, his collar for longer than appropriate. And everytime he does, Ashe has to push down the hum that threatens to singe its way through Ashe’s body, that tries to light a fire in the pit of Ashe’s stomach.

It’s nightly by this point, when Ashe lies back in his bed, and thinks of gold and blue while his hand trails steadily downward-

Well. It is an antsy couple of weeks.

And then there is one morning, when Ingrid pulls him aside. Her hands are heavy and tight on Ashe’s shoulders, and Ashe tries not to squeak as she leans in, staring intensely at his face.

“You,” Ingrid says, eyes blank and empty, _ “owe me so much.” _

With those cryptic parting words, she turns around and brisk walks off, leaving a very confused, and very wary Ashe in the dust.

At least, everyone else acts relatively normal. Sylvain claps him on the back in greeting as he rushes off to his next appointment, Felix grunts when they pass each other in the hallways, Dedue dips his head and they strike up a short conversation about the plants in the garden, before they each have to head off for their respective duties.

And then there’s Dimitri.

Or rather, there isn’t.

Ashe doesn’t see even a glimpse of the king the whole day, which is wholly unusual. Dimitri’s never quite free, but he does make it a point to drop in at Ashe at various times of the day, sometimes to share a meal together, sometimes just to talk. Sometimes just to see him, even if only for a moment, and that small gesture too makes Ashe grin stupid and dumb.

He has a problem, he knows. But this one can stay.

Nonetheless, this breaking of routine is highly suspicious indeed. Paired with the way Ingrid refuses to look at him, and well.

_ Do not get your hopes up, _ Ashe tells himself. _ Do not get your hopes up. This is highly implausible. Do not- _

“Ashe,” Dedue’s voice breaks Ashe out of his thoughts, and Ashe turns with a smile.

“Dedue!” he greets. “What is it?” 

Dedue shuffles. And then he coughs, lightly, avoiding Ashe’s gaze. This sets off warning bells in Ashe’s head, and Ashe stiffens, laser focused now, on how _ awkward _Dedue is acting.

(Do not get your hopes up. Do _ not-) _

“His Majesty wishes to see you in his quarters,” says Dedue.

“...And he couldn’t have gotten me himself?”

“No,” says Dedue, flatly, and if Ashe looks closely-

Dedue turns before Ashe can examine his face, to see if whether it was just a figment of his imagination, or if there truly was a hint of red spread over Dedue’s cheeks. Ashe’s head spins. Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess, was this _ actually happening. _

“Goodbye,” Dedue says, curt in his embarrassment, and Ashe can barely call back a “bye!” before Dedue is stepping away, his strides long and quick. 

Ashe makes the journey to Dimitri’s room in a daze, thoughts swirling in his head and his mind jumping from conclusion to conclusion. 

_ There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way. Dimitri probably just needs help with something, and he can’t leave his room because of it, yeah, probably- _

Ashe nearly walks past Dimitri’s door. Thankfully, he notices in time, and stops in front of Dimitri’s door.

He stands there, for a bit. His arm raises, as if to knock, but it stills in the air. Suddenly, Ashe feels nervous. 

It’s not an emotion he enjoys, if he’s being honest. At first, of course, it was nearly all he felt around Dimitri, and even after they’d cleared the air about their relationship, Ashe couldn’t help the butterflies in his stomach, their beating wings and their spastic flight. Over time, though, it had mostly dissipated, leaving behind a soft, fuzzy feeling that never failed to materialise when he sees his boyfriend.

(Perhaps it’s an immature term to describe them, especially considering Dimitri’s status. But Ashe isn’t sure of any other way, and Dimitri’s face lights up whenever Ashe does address him as such, so. Boyfriend it is, he supposes.) 

Yet now, the insects have once again returned, to make a mess out of Ashe’s guts and produce a knot in Ashe’s throat.

Ashe swallows. And he bites his lip. And he thinks

(His Majesty wishes to see you in his quarters)

and Ashe takes the leap, and knocks.

A beat, and Ashe is wondering if he’s made a huge, huge mistake, when Dimitri’s voice rings out.

“Who is there?” he sounds _ anxious, _ his voice faltering just a bit. Ashe takes a breath, and summons his courage.

“It’s me,” he says, and Dimitri goes utterly silent. “Dedue said you wanted to see me…?”

Another pause. Longer, this time.

“...Yes,” Dimitri says eventually. “Er. E-Excuse me, but would you mind closing your eyes?”

“...Okay?” Ashe does as Dimitri asks. A second later, and he hears the door creak open. Goddess, he wants to open his eyes and _ see, _ but he doesn’t. A warm hand wraps around Ashe’s wrist, and Ashe lets himself be gently tugged inside, led into Dimitri’s room.

The door clicks shut behind them. The sound of shuffling, and rustling bedsheets. Ashe holds his breath. 

“...Alright,” says Dimitri, after what seems like an eternity. And now, unmuffled by any obstacle, it’s clear to Ashe’s ears just how nervous Dimitri is.

(Do not get your hopes up. Do not get your hopes up. Do not-)

Ashe opens his eyes.

Dimitri stands in front of him, head turned away, his hair trussed up into his now usual ponytail. What Ashe can see of his face is utterly red. But that’s not important, at the moment. 

What is important is just what Dimitri’s _ wearing. _

Gleaming white and beautiful, as gold trails its way up into elegant accents. A sweeping blue and fierce furs, contrasting and complementing Dimitri perfectly. At a glance, Ashe can already tell that this armor is not the real thing, but damn is it close enough.

Ashe stares. And stares. And stares.

Dimitri looks back, biting his lip, at Ashe’s dumbfounded silence. His eyes are puppy wide, as he looks down at Ashe.

“Do you-“ _ like it, _is what Ashe guesses Dimitri is about to say, but Ashe doesn’t know for sure. Because Ashe cuts him off.

Because that’s when Ashe jumps him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ashe likes to think he has good self-control over himself. 

As the past few weeks have proven, however, he does not. Not really. So it’s not that much of a surprise to himself, when any semblance of sanity that Ashe once had snaps in half, as he lunges forward and dashes straight into Dimitri.

Dimitri seems caught off-guard by Ashe’s lack of restraint, however. Not that that stops him from catching Ashe with ease. Damn Blaidydd-gifted strength. Ashe practically full-on surprise body tackles the man, and he doesn’t even flinch.

Once again, the thought sends a throb through Ashe. This time, though, he doesn’t bother pushing the feeling down.

He leans up on his tiptoes, grips Dimitri’s arms for balance as he closes his eyes and kisses Dimitri like a starving man. Now, so close and in contact, Ashe can tell that the armor is not made up of real steel, the material much softer and even pliable under his touch. 

Good, Ashe hazily thinks. That just means it’ll be easier for Dimitri to keep it on when they fuck.

Ashe presses inelegantly against Dimitri, their chests shoving together, Ashe’s knuckles going pale around Dimitri’s biceps. His eyelashes brush Dimitri’s face, as his mouth sloppily meets Dimitri’s, tongue darting out and swiping over Dimitri’s lips.

Dimitri’s mouth opens, pliant, and Ashe gladly takes the unspoken invitation, thrusting his tongue in and licking into Dimitri’s mouth. They clash together, their movements uncoordinated and messy, and Ashe has to stifle a short yelp when Dimitri inadvertently scrapes over Ashe’s bottom lip with his teeth.

All at once, Dimitri is pulling back, guilt in his eyes and an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Ashe doesn’t let him. He chases, and chases, leaning in and capturing Dimitri once again in a harsh kiss. Saliva slicks their lips, and Dimitri slides slipshod against Ashe, but Ashe doesn’t relent. He nibbles, gently, on the bottom corner of Dimitri’s mouth, seizing his opportunity to dive back in when Dimitri gasps at the sensation.

It’s wet and hot and filthy, and Ashe adores it. He sucks on Dimitri’s tongue when it tentatively darts out, he moans, muffled, as spit trails down his chin. Ashe has never felt so _ eager _in his life.

“Bed,” he mumbles, as Dimitri staggers back, clearly startled by Ashe’s force. Ashe follows him. “Bed,” he gasps out, into Dimitri’s mouth, his tongue and his lips.

Dimitri complies.

They stumble back, Ashe still clinging on tight, as when Dimitri falls back, his ass ungracefully hitting his bedsheets while his furred cape thwumps beneath them, Ashe crawls atop him, straddling his hips, knees holding himself up. His hands move, one to Dimitri’s shoulder, the other to his cheek. Dimitri’s hands come up to support Ashe, gripping his hips, fingers involuntarily digging into Ashe’s flesh. There’ll be bruises, Ashe thinks, and shivers.

Dimitri pulls away for air, gasping and panting, a strand of saliva connecting the both of them.

“Ashe,” he tries to start, but Ashe cuts him off with another kiss. It’s chaster this time, not as rough or messy as just now, but that’s not saying much. Dimitri moans, helpless, as Ashe tips his head up, shoves his tongue deeper into the king’s mouth. 

His fingers on Dimitri’s shoulder curl around fur, soft and engulfing Ashe’s small hand. His nails scrape, and his hips roll forward, his clothed dick bumping against the faux armor that Dimitri’s wearing.

Dimitri lets out a soft sound at that, and Ashe finally pulls back. He blinks, dazedly, at Dimitri, at his red face and blue eyes and his pretty pink lips. Spit shines glossy on his face, sweat trickles down his brow, and his hair is distinctively mussed, golden strands astray and slipping from his hair tie. 

Ashe did this.

Abruptly, a wave of mortification washes over him, as Ashe realises just how forward and wanton he’d been acting. He almost scrambles off of Dimitri’s lap, but the man’s grip still holds him firmly in place, pressing deep into Ashe’s skin.

“Sorry,” Ashe squeaks. “I-I just, uh-“

Dimitri laughs, breathless and giddy.

“It’s fine,” he assures, and Ashe’s eyes dart down to his swollen lips. He gulps. “I was...caught off-guard, I will admit, but,” Dimitri laughs, again. “Wow.”

“Sorry,” Ashe repeats, though even he doesn’t know what he’s apologising for. Dimitri huffs, and silences him with another kiss.

This one is gentle. Dimitri brings a hand up to tilt Ashe’s face, his fingers gentle on Ashe’s chin, as he brings their mouths back together. He eases in, their lips slotting together, his movement slow and unhurried.

Ashe closes his eyes.

He breathes deep, and tries to calm his heart that still thuds fast in his chest. The change in pace is almost jarring, but Ashe lets himself slow down, matching Dimitri’s pace with a shudder.

His dick throbs, hard, against Dimitri’s stomach. 

Dimitri is the one to deepen their kiss, this time. He opens his mouth, lightly grazes Ashe with his teeth, prods at his lips with an inquisitive tongue. Ashe follows along, of course. He lets Dimitri in, pushes in closer as the king explores further; moans, quiet and soft, muffled by the tongue in his mouth and the lips against his.

It’s good. It’s good even with Dimitri’s nervous hesitation, his unsure escalation. On Ashe’s hip, Dimitri’s hand flutters, as if wondering if this is right. If this is fine. If Ashe likes it.

Not that it matters. Everything that Dimitri does, Ashe thinks, is already good enough for him.

They stay like that for a few moments longer, languidly moving against each other in a lazy rut. Unconsciously, Ashe rocks his hips against Dimitri’s (fake) plackart, and he groans at the lacking stimulation.

Dimitri eventually pulls away first, flushed and breathing unsteady. Somehow, he looks even more sexed up than he had earlier, after Ashe’s forceful advances.

Absently, Ashe brings a hand up to run through his hair, sliding the practically useless hair tie off and dumping it somewhere on the floor behind them. Dimitri makes a face that could, by some, be described as a pout.

“I’m never going to find that again,” he complains. Ashe shushes him with a quick, chaste kiss.

“I’ll buy you another,” says Ashe, and at that, Dimitri’s expression is now definitely a pout.

“I’m king,” he says, as if Ashe doesn’t know. “I can just get another one myself. You don’t have to.”

“Okay,” Ashe agrees easily, because he wasn’t really that serious in the first place. And also because he’s distracted, now, his eyes trailing down to Dimitri’s throat. With Dimitri’s hair loose again, falling around his shoulders, there’s no longer such a clear view of his neck. Gold plasters to his nape, sweat-soaked and wet, contrasting beautifully against Dimitri’s pale skin. 

Ashe wants to bite it.

Dimitri’s breath hitches when Ashe tugs insistently at the plates of his armor. Is it a plate? Not really, Ashe concedes. It gives way easily, Dimitri’s chestplate unlatching with a soft click, and revealing the black, skin tight shirt beneath it.

“I asked Ingrid if she knew somebody who was well versed in customising in things of this sort,” Dimitri tells him, a whisper in the large room around them.

Ashe laughs, breathy.

“You asked _ Ingrid _ to help you get custom...custom _ sex _ armor?” he asks, amused, and Dimitri blushes.

“It’s not sex armor,” argues Dimitri. “It’s simply easy to remove and put on, lightweight, and it doesn’t chafe-“

“You are not making a very good case for yourself here,” Ashe tells him, and Dimitri stops with a sigh.

Ashe busies himself with tucking his hands into the collar of Dimitri’s shirt, now, gripping and pulling it down. When his collarbones peek out from the black, Ashe can’t resist any longer, and dives for Dimitri’s neck. Dimitri doesn’t stop him. If anything, he leans forward, tipping his head up and baring his throat for Ashe to see.

Ashe starts off with butterfly kisses, from Dimitri’s jaw down to his collar. Kisses and lips that turn into nips and teeth, and Dimitri lets out a shuddering sigh when Ashe latches on, and sucks.

He makes his mark low, at the space connecting Dimitri’s neck to his shoulders and just barely above his sharp collarbones. Much as Ashe would like to see Dimitri walking around the castle, sitting on the throne with Ashe’s hickeys littered all over his skin, it’d be improper. Who knows what scandals may arise from that? The king with a limp, an obvious bedhead, and damning bruises scattered in a choker around his neck.

Maybe one day, Ashe thinks, drunk on Dimitri’s gasps as he sinks his teeth into skin. If Dimitri ever gets a day off, if they ever manage to get away for longer than a day. If they can rest in a place far, far away from their responsibilities, their time and their presence beholden to nobody but themselves. 

It’s a nice thought. A selfish little fantasy. And Ashe hopes beyond hope, that one day, it’ll turn into reality, even if only for a short time.

But for now, Ashe leaves bruises where Dimitri can hide them. Bites and laps a dark blue in places where no one except himself and Dimitri should ever get to see, scrapes his teeth against the forming lovebites while Dimitri squirms under him.

Dimitri lives for the people of Faerghus, gives all his time and effort to them, but in here, he’s all Ashe’s. And Ashe will make sure that he remembers that fact. 

Much to Ashe’s disappointment, the black shirt doesn’t yield much further. It stops short, wrinkling and straining as Ashe tries to pull it down further, stubbornly refusing to show anymore of Dimitri’s bare skin.

Ashe clicks his tongue irritably. It’s a dilemma. Seeing Dimitri bare and naked underneath him? Or have him leave his armor on, majestic and kingly even as Ashe defiles him? Decisions, decisions.

Below him, in the middle of Ashe’s thighs, Dimitri shakes. Belatedly, Ashe realises that he’s _ laughing. _Frowning in mock affront, Ashe slaps a gentle hand on Dimitri’s shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” Ashe pouts, and Dimitri shakes harder. 

“You looked so _ serious,” _ Dimitri tells him, with a grin.

“Well,” Ashe flounders.

“The armor is meant to be taken off. It’s designed for that.”

“But I don’t want to,” says Ashe, pathetically. Dimitri raises an eyebrow at him, flushed and sweaty and yet still managing to look unimpressed all the same.

“You want me to have sex in this?”

“Yes,” replies Ashe.

“...That sounds uncomfortable. For the both of us.” 

“I want to see you,” the words tumble out of Ashe’s mouth. “Like this. In this.” He swallows, and pushes Dimitri down, his hands pressing against his chest. Dimitri goes with it, easily, and Ashe is left kneeling over Dimitri’s prone body; fingers gripping black, his knees on either side of Dimitri’s hips, his body situated and hanging just above Dimitri’s. _ “Beneath me.” _

Dimitri swallows. Ashe tracks the movement, the bob of his throat.

“Like this,” Ashe repeats, breathless, and he bends down again.

Much like the others that Ashe has initiated, this kiss is biting and bruising. It’s not that Ashe does it on purpose, he thinks. It’s just that that’s what Dimitri brings out in him, laying so vulnerable and pliant and beautiful. A lingering sweetness to give way to teeth, nails that leave lines on the skin. Ashe sees his skin and _ wants; _ Ashe hears Dimitri’s gasps and he throbs. 

It’s embarrassing, maybe, just a bit humiliating how Ashe loses himself in the all of it. But those thoughts get shoved to the back of his mind, dissipating in the haze that falls over Ashe when their lips meet again, and again — and again.

Fingers calloused by holding bows and arrows lightly trail back up, the pad of Ashe’s thumb pushing down on the bruises he’s made with his mouth. Dimitri groans into Ashe, at that, and the sound sends a surge through Ashe’s body.

Then and there, Ashe comes to a conclusion that he won’t be swayed from.

In the books, Loog is always portrayed as a great knight, riding upon his pure white steed. A majestic stallion, suited for such a majestic man. When he was younger, and in the present, even, Ashe has always admired that about Loog. The image of him atop a galloping horse, his lance pointed forward as he leads the charge into the fray. It’s a nice picture, to be sure. 

Now, though, Ashe is thankful that Loog had chosen to ride a horse for an entirely different reason. There had been a time where Ashe was deeply confused over the lack of “proper covering” for the armor suited for calvary, but in this situation, it’s remarkably convenient.

The cloth covering Dimitri’s crotch grants easy access. Best of all, Ashe doesn’t have to remove _ anything. _All he has to do is flip up the fabric and reveal what lies underneath. 

Dimitri's exhale is shuddering. Ashe looks up at him under hooded eyes, from where he's crouched over the king's hips.

Dimitri meets his gaze. Minutely, he nods.

A stifled moan greets Ashe's ears, when he lets his hand brush over Dimitri's clothed bulge. It twitches at the touch, and Dimitri's hips jerk.

Ashe does it again, utterly fascinated. Again, Dimitri rocks his hips, and makes a small sound.

Ashe unceremoniously yanks Dimitri's pants and boxers down.

Ashe hadn't realised how little control he truly over his own urges, until Dimitri had first come out in gleaming white. Before then, Ashe had always prided himself on being the sane one. The one able to hold himself back, to stop the others in their arguments, to exert a level of emotional stability amongst the panicking dumpster fires that make up the majority of the Blue Lions. 

Now, Ashe thinks, as he stares transfixed at Dimitri's hard, bobbing dick, he doesn't _ feel _very emotionally stable.

Almost as if moving of their own will, his arms reach out. One grips onto Dimitri's hip, as Ashe steadies himself, and the other wraps around Dimitri's cock. 

The reaction is instant. 

"Fuc-" Dimitri gasps sharply, back arching up and off the bed. He rolls his hips, thrusting into Ashe's warm palm, as his hands fist into the sheets by his sides. Dimitri bites his lip, and Ashe stares blatantly, his gaze stuck on Dimitri's face while his hands moves on Dimitri's dick. _ "Ashe," _comes a stuttered moan from Dimitri's mouth. 

Ashe is utterly, achingly hard. But for now, he ignores his pleading member, painful and throbbing in the air above Dimitri's thighs. His attention, for now, is fixed solely on the debauched king below him, keening and crying out as Ashe jacks him off.

Ashe sweeps his pre-cum down from the tip of Dimitri's cock, his fingers slick and slippery as his hand strokes up and down. Dimitri pulses in his palm, leaking with every squeeze, letting out tiny whimpers with every twist of Ashe's wrist. It's intoxicating. Ashe can't look away.

"Good?" Ashe can't resist asking. Maybe he's being a jerk, teasing Dimitri like this and asking for his voice, but Ashe wants to hear him. He wants to hear Dimitri's voice, shaking and trembling from Ashe's hand alone. He wants to hear Dimitri tell him how good he's doing, how good Dimitri feels, hear his pretty, wrecked voice call out-

"Ashe," Dimitri gasps, and the sound goes straight to Ashe’s dick. “Ye-Yes-“ Dimitri pants, red-faced and his mouth open, “It’s g-good, _ Ashe-“ _

_ Yes, _ Ashe thinks, high and delirious. _ Yes, yes, yes. _

The sounds of slick and Dimitri’s noises fill the room, as Ashe pumps his length, completely lost in the motion, the din, the sight. All too soon, Dimitri is just about shaking apart beneath him, eyes glazed as he sucks in desperate pants of air. Bedsheets rustle and shift, and bunching up where Dimitri squirms. Light reflects white and gold, and Dimitri’s cape is all folded and wrinkled below him. 

Ashe wants to stay like this forever. With Dimitri gasping beneath him, wearing the armor of Ashe’s fantasies, compliant with Ashe’s demands and soft underneath Ashe’s hands. With Dimitri smiling even through his pleasured haze, gazing at Ashe so fondly and lovingly-

A spike of arousal rushes through Ashe, and he thinks-

He takes his hand away and Dimitri whines-

_ -no, not now, I can’t let it end just yet. _

Dimitri bucks up into nothing.

_ “Ashe,” _ he groans, wide-eyed and confused. A bead of pre-cum trails down the bulging vein in his cock. “Why-“

Ashe’s breath is staccato quick as he leans his body across the bed, to the desk. His hands are trembling, he realises. His vision can’t quite focus, and he feels lightheaded, and his boner is throbbing hard in his pants.

Ashe bangs the drawer open, and rummages through it. He knows it’s here. He saw it here. All he has to do is find it.

Thankfully, even in Ashe’s compromised state, the bottle of oil doesn’t take too long to find. Ashe returns to his kneel above Dimitri, uncapping the bottle to the view of Dimitri’s eyes going impossibly wide. 

His heart beats; _ thud, thud, _ in his chest.

Ashe shoves his pants and underwear down, kicking them off and tossing them to the side, while Dimitri stares dumbfounded. Ashe’s cock bobs, hard and red in the air, and Ashe spots the pink of Dimitri’s tongue, darting out to wet his lips.

That, Ashe decides, is an idea for another day.

For now, Ashe wants something else. Ashe needs something else. Oil spills, shaky, over his own fingers, cool to the touch and a shock to Ashe’s overheated system. He rubs his fingers together, as he tries his best to stand the bottle back upright on the desk, and after a few, hurried moments, he reaches behind himself.

Dimitri chokes.

Ashe keeps his gaze forward and focused, taking in the sight of Dimitri and never looking away. The way he stares, open-mouthed, lips spit slick and swollen red like the rest of his face. His bright blue eye, fixed on Ashe’s body. How he swallows, trembling, when Ashe slowly, steadily, pushes a finger into himself.

It’s an easy intrusion. The oil, paired with the nights Ashe has been having lately, lets Ashe slide in with little fanfare. Idly, he wriggles his finger around, trying to make room- 

Ashe yelps as hands suddenly grip his hips, and pull him forward. His legs nearly give out, but Dimitri holds him up, staring intensely down at where Ashe’s hand meets his hole. Ashe flushes red. 

Strange, perhaps, that he could be so confident while holding Dimitri’s dick in his hand. But having Dimitri watch so closely as Ashe presses his own finger inside himself is utterly embarrassing. He tenses involuntarily, and hisses at how his entrance tightens around himself. 

“Keep going,” Dimitri rasps, gaze still set on Ashe. Ashe swallows. And tentatively, he starts moving again.

His finger squishes obscenely in his hole, and Ashe lets out a shuddering sigh, dipping his head and closing his eyes to let himself revel in the feeling. He’s up to his knuckle, his hand pressed into his ass, and Ashe slips the second finger in to the background track of Dimitri’s wrecked groan. 

Dimitri’s grip tightens on Ashe’s hips, as Ashe begins thrusting both fingers in and out, scissoring and spreading himself. He tries to recall the feel of Dimitri’s dick, how his hand could just barely fit around it. The thick circumference and the raw texture. Ashe thinks, and imagines, as he opens himself up.

“H-Hah,” he moans out, and there’s an answering, ruined response from below him. “Dimitri,” Ashe calls out, as he pushes down on his own fingers, _ “Fuck.” _

Nails bite into Ashe’s hips. When Ashe cracks open an eye to look down, he’s greeted by Dimitri staring at him like Ashe is his salvation.

Ashe chokes, as he practically slams the third finger in. He can feel the stretch, now, the uncoordinated rush as he mindlessly crooks his own fingers inside himself, as he watches Dimitri watch him, as his cock bobs, leaking, in the air-

Ashe wails and tightens when he finally finds it. His free hand goes to grip Dimitri’s wrist, his knuckles white around Dimitri’s pale skin, steadying himself. He bends his fingers again, rubs into his sweet spot, and he pants open-mouthed as electricity crackles up his spine.

Dimitri is staring. Ashe meets his eyes.

“Good?” he slurs, even though Dimitri is being neglected, even though Ashe is preoccupied with himself, even though Dimitri is preoccupied with the way that Ashe is preoccupied with himself. 

“Yes,” Dimitri gasps out, blue and black forming in Ashe’s skin under Dimitri’s fingertips. “Good.”

Ashe smiles, dreamy and feverish. Dimitri shakes himself apart.

Ashe’s fingers pull out with a loud squelch. He feels empty, suddenly, his hole clenching and unclenching around nothing.

“Dimitri,” Ashe mutters, when the man shows no signs of letting him go, his hands still gripping tight around Ashe’s hip. He tugs at Dimitri’s wrist, with the hand still grabbing onto it. “Dimitri,” he repeats, and Dimitri loosens his fingers with a quivering gasp, eye once again focusing clear on Ashe.

Ashe shuffles back. His legs feel like jelly. His dick is still stiff and leaking, drooling all over himself as he shakily grabs the bottle of oil, once again. When he pours the liquid all over Dimitri’s dick, the king hisses, jerking at the sudden coolness of it all.

“Sorry,” Ashe murmurs, and then, once again, wraps a hand around it. He makes sure to coat the whole length, his hands slicking up and down and pressing heated into it. Dimitri groans as Ashe prepares him, watching Ashe with half-lidded eyes throughout.

It doesn’t take long before Ashe is lifting himself up, positioning himself over Dimitri’s cock. He sucks in a breath at the feeling of the blunt head pressing against him, lets out a shuddering exhale as he tries to force himself to relax.

It’s the anticipation that’s been killing him, all along. He looks down, gazes upon Dimitri’s sweat soaked face, teeth gnawing on his kissed swollen lips, the furs that pillow beneath Dimitri and the blue against the bedsheets. Dimitri looks at him, adoringly, wantonly, gold on white on gold- 

It’s been a long enough wait.

Ashe sinks down, lets out a soft keen as Dimitri steadily breaches him. Ashe stretches around him, breathing shakily at the slow invasion. Dimitri isn’t doing much better, his breaths similarly ragged, as Ashe splits himself open on Dimitri.

“Ashe,” whispers Dimitri, like a prayer. “Ashe, _ Goddess, _ you- you-“

Ashe’s hands find purchase on Dimitri’s chest. And there is how he supports himself, limbs trembling and vision spotty, gasping for air as Dimitri fills him.

This is not Ashe’s first time. There has been his fingers, there have been his toys. There had been Felix, once or twice, Ashe in an entirely different position as he’d moaned with his face shoved down into a pillow. Yet, it feels like a whole new sensation. 

Dimitri’s dick has been in his hand. Dimitri’s dick was just in Ashe’s hand. But nothing could have prepared him for this; the stretch and burn, the overwhelming fullness. The way Dimitri groans as Ashe pushes down onto him, the way Dimitri gazes at him, the way his hands make their way back to their position on Ashe’s hips, tight and supporting and yet still yielding enough to let him take Dimitri’s cock at his own pace.

The way Dimitri looks underneath Ashe, flushed and panting with sweat soaked hair plastered to his face, tousled beyond recognition. His cape is mussed (the cape he wears for Ashe), the fur on it clumped and matted (the furs he puts on for Ashe), and when Dimitri shifts, lights gleams and reflects off of his shining white and gold (the armor he keeps on for Ashe). 

Ashe can see the dust particles in the refracted light, dancing gently in the air. Dimitri is moving, just slightly, beneath Ashe, his body undulating and his mouth grunting, his cock rocking in short and quick jabs. Ashe can feel it all, can feel too much, as he clenches warm and tight around Dimitri, takes him further down, inch by inch.

Dimitri isn’t small, by any means. Ashe has to strain to fit his girth, has to roll his hips, over and over, to adjust. But they’ve both been waiting long enough, and Ashe whimpers as he sinks, finally, down on his shaking thighs, his ass hitting Dimitri’s hips with a light slap. It’s overwhelming, fully inside him, and Ashe allows himself a few moments of stillness, quivering atop of Dimitri.

It is going to be a long time before the finger-shaped bruises on Ashe’s hips disappear. 

Ashe shuts his eyes when he starts pushing himself back up, forces his thighs into action as he begins to move. Little gasping _ ah, ah, ah’s _ make their way out of his mouth as Ashe rocks his hips, as Dimitri pumps up into him. Ashe grabs his length with his hand, his other arm trembling dangerously where it’s pressed into Dimitri’s chest, just barely keeping Ashe upright. 

But he needs this, he thinks, the warm softness around his aching member, fingers squeezing gentle as they begin making up for the lack of attention paid so far. Ashe groans and gasps and shivers, his hand around his cock, and stuffed full of Dimitri. 

_ Dimitri. _

Ashe’s movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, his hips jerking in uneven thrusts as he forces his limbs to work. His hand moves to the same rhythm as which he rides Dimitri; that is, not a very regular one. 

It’s good all the same. It’s good all the same, with Dimitri under him, with Dimitri in him, with Dimitri’s moans surrounding him and Dimitri’s hands kissing black into Ashe’s skin. Dimitri’s hips, when they start to pick up speed, as his dick stirs inside Ashe, throbbing and hot and hard.

Ashe doesn’t have much left to give. He gasps and shudders as Dimitri begins thrusting, eager and impatient, up into him, his thighs barely managing to even hold him up as they tremble, and tremble, and strain. Ashe twists his hand, uses his own leaking pre-cum to slick his cock and slide easier along the length of it.

Ashe is moaning a litany of Dimitri’s name, when his legs give, for a moment, and he slides down, inadvertently ramming back onto Dimitri’s cock. The angle changes, and Ashe keens as sparks fly up his spine, vision going white hot for a split second. He tightens, and Dimitri groans like music to Ashe’s ears.

It has always been an inevitable end. From the first time Ashe had seen Dimitri in those hallowed halls of the monastery, dignified and poised and majestic, as befitting of a prince. When Ashe had seen him again, five years later, snarling and snapping like the beast Felix had always described him as. When Ashe had seen him again, and again, beneath that starry-lit sky, atop the fated tower said to be watched over by the Goddess. 

When Ashe had seen him again, and again, and again; retaking Faerghus, storming Enbarr, his smile when he leans in, his head bowed below the weight of the crown, his hand in Ashe’s, a candle flickering and illuminating treaties, his chin resting atop Ashe’s head.

When Sylvain waggles his eyebrows and Ingrid beams and Dedue is solemn as he congratulates them and Felix is scoffing but grinning small when he thinks no one is looking and Annette’s loud scream of delight and Mercedes’s knowing smile as she hands them a bag of cookies and the professor-

The light gleaming white. Gold tracing his body. A blue, blue cape and the royal coat of arms.

Ashe isn’t sure who says it first, when fire sweeps up his spine, setting his ever nerve alight and bright. He sees Dimitri, his face contorted in ecstasy, before Ashe’s own eyes squeeze shut as he rides his own rocking wave, as sparks flare in him, and warm heat fills his body.

Ashe swallows, staying upright for one last, shaky moment, before he collapses to the side, Dimitri soft and slipping out of him. Ashe shivers at the sensation of cum leaking out of his hole, staining the sheets and some managing to get onto Dimitri’s rumpled cape.

Distantly, Ashe wonders if this physical defilement of Loog’s armor, even if only a replica, can count as blasphemy.

There’s a long, exhausted sigh, and an arm flopping heavy onto Ashe’s body. Dimitri rolls onto his side, and stares into Ashe’s eyes. There’s a slight pause, as they just look at each other for a bit.

“Hi,” says Ashe, after a moment. Dimitri’s lips quirk up into an amused smile.

“Hello,” he responds. Another pause. And then Ashe giggles, just edging on hysterical. His body is wrung out and his legs and ass are aching, he’s given all he has to Dimitri and still he tries to find more. 

Ashe isn’t sure who says it first, so he makes sure to say it again, and again, and again, with his arms wrapping around Dimitri, with his legs tangling with his; with his mouth, when he leans in and tilts his head, breathes out _ I love you, I love you, I love you _against Dimitri’s lips.

And Dimitri responds in kind, with his forehead pressing against Ashe’s, with his hand cradling the back of Ashe’s neck; with his mouth, when he leans in and tilts his head and asks Ashe to stay the night, the words muffled with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu on twitter @areseliph](https://mobile.twitter.com/areseliph)


End file.
